


Irony

by rileywrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Scott, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Stiles, M/M, SBdarkstiles, Sterek Bingo 2017, sbbamfstiles, sbetl, sbredhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 02:51:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10981821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rileywrites/pseuds/rileywrites
Summary: Laura is dead. Derek is alone, running for the Oregon border and allies on the other side. He's found on the edge of Beacon Hills....Derek wakes to a noose around his neck, some kind of garotte or belt or fuck if he knows.He doesn't even have it in him to fight."What are you doing in these woods, mutt? This territory already has a pack, and you sure as fuck aren't part of it." The voice sounds familiar for some reason, despite a gritty husk that mars the memory. "Well?"





	Irony

Derek is running.

He's been running for six hours, on foot from the moment the sun went down.

Derek is running, because for the first time in his twenty-two years of existence, Derek is alone.

He had to leave Laura in Sacramento when they still had the car, bury her in unfamiliar territory to keep her safe.

He left the car in Redding. There are allies in Oregon, if he can only get closer.

Derek is running.

...

His path takes him near the edge of Beacon Hills and the raw hole in his soul he tries to ignore. His instincts are roiling between his pack-less alpha urge and the sheer agony of losing his sister. His last remaining family.

Derek's body gives out without warning or consideration for his location. He lands in the underbrush with a thud, the air knocked out of him with the effort. 

He sleeps, half-buried in decaying leaves, mere feet from the creek that could revive him.

...

Derek wakes to a noose around his neck, some kind of garotte or belt or fuck if he knows.

He doesn't even have it in him to fight.

"What are you doing in these woods, mutt? This territory already has a pack, and you sure as fuck aren't part of it." The voice sounds familiar for some reason, despite a gritty husk that mars the memory. "Well?"

"Can't... speak..." Derek rasps. "Noose."

His assailant seems to see his point, the rope (it's rope) around his neck easing just enough for him to breathe better.

"There are hunters on my trail. I'm on my way to Salem, where I have allies. I didn't mean to trespass."

His newfound instincts roar at the idea of him trespassing in Hale ancestral territory, but Derek is too far gone to give a shit.

"Why should I believe you?"

Carefully, slowly, Derek rolls onto his back, rope burn healing and reopening and healing again as he moves.

"I'm-"

"Derek Hale," the man says bluntly. "We were wondering where you'd gone."

It's dark, and Derek is too tired to focus properly, but the man holding his life in his hands looks too familiar not to be known. His eyes look black in the darkness, the moon flashing off of a strong jaw and high cheekbones within the hood of a red leather coat.

That's when Derek snaps. He laughs, nearly strangling himself in the man's garotte, laughing so hard he can't breathe, chest aching.

"What the fuck?"

"Y-you're..." Derek interrupts himself with laughter. "You're wearing a fucking red hood."

"I literally have you garotted, you're too weak to heal properly, and you're laughing at my fashion choice?" The man is smirking. "You're definitely Peter's nephew."

Derek sobers. "Peter?"

Red Coat's laugh is sharp, bitter. "Dead, several times over. He turned my alpha, and I killed him."

There's fur lining the hood of his coat. Derek doesn't dare ask.

"See, my alpha is good. Kind. Forgiving." He twists the garotte, placing his foot on Derek's chest for good measure. "I'm not."

"I've done nothing wrong," Derek chokes out. "Please, let me go, before the hunters pick up my trail. Or kill me, I'm as good as dead anyway."

The man pauses, thinking even as the rope tightens again.

"No. I'm going to take you in, see what Scott thinks." The man ushers him to his feet. "My name is Stiles, by the way."

...

Derek is tied up in the back of a black SUV, listening to the sounds of his hometown going by and hoping he doesn't heal with dirt in his wounds.

The man takes him to an industrial building that seems to have been converted into lofts. There are shackles hanging from the rafters, and the windows are barred.

"If your alpha is so good, how does he let you kidnap or kill other shifters?" Derek tugs at his shackles. "These are hunter-made irons."

Stiles, red coat off and boots on the table, is sharpening knives.

"His mate is human. An Argent. She has new priorities, but she also has a similar moral code to mine-- kill or be killed."

Derek is exhausted, adrenaline long gone. He can't even panic at the idea of an Argent having control over Beacon Hills. He slumps in his bonds, head hanging.

"I pose no threat," he says for the thousandth time. "I'm just passing through."

"With hunters at your heels," Stiles says. "I can't trust you."

Derek can feel those sharp eyes on him.

"You're even more attractive than your rapey uncle. I'm impressed."

He doesn't sound impressed.

"I can almost see what Kate saw in you."

Derek snarls at the mention of her name, snapping at Stiles and pulling at his chains until he wears himself out.

"Good boy," Stiles drawls, sarcastic.

Heat slides down Derek's spine without his permission.

...

Scott tells Stiles to let Derek go.

Scott is an heir worthy of Derek's mother in a way Derek could never be, and the man is bitten. He checks Derek's wounds once he's unshackled, gently reopening one to remove a piece of debris that got caught under the skin.

"There. That should heal better now." Scott looks him over, and looks out the large expanse of windows. "It's light. You should stay here until nightfall. Eat, rest. You're in no shape to keep running."

He squeezes Derek's neck, and it takes everything in him not to just melt.

"Stiles. Don't hurt him." Scott tells the shadows where Stiles is lurking. "He's in enough pain already."

Scott leaves, and Stiles steps out of the shadows just enough to stare at Derek properly. He traded the red leather coat for a soft-looking red hoodie, and Derek can't help but snort.

"There's something ironic about the kid in the red hood kidnapping a wolf, don't you think?"

Stiles laughs. "Why do you think I had the damn thing made? I love me some ironic symbolism."

He stalks across the loft, closing the gap between him and where Derek is half-sprawled on the battered couch. Derek doesn't move, too exhausted to bother.

"Your uncle found it endearing, tried to turn it all around." Stiles' smirk is sharp, his eyes dark. "He tried to touch me, and I took off his fucking hand."

Derek… should probably not find that attractive. He left his self-preservation out in the forest. Slowly, Derek raises his hands.

"I'm not my uncle."

"I know." Stiles straddles him, pinning Derek's wrists to the back of those couch with his large, capable hands. "See, I want to touch you. Since Scott says I can't hurt you…"

He kisses him, all teeth and tongue and unabashed passion. Derek's exhausted brain goes offline, instincts taking over.

As strong as Stiles is, Derek could still easily flip them, pin Stiles to the couch and take control of whatever the hell they're doing.

He doesn't.

He doesn't want to be in control right now.

Stiles stands just long enough to strip, and Derek can't help the pathetic whine that escapes his throat at being left alone even for a moment.

"Easy, pup. The sooner we get naked, the sooner I get in you."

Derek strips so fast he rips his shirt, claws tearing the worn fabric to shreds. Stiles helps him with the jeans before he ends up shredding them too.

As soon as he's naked, Derek is raising his legs to his chest. He wants this. He needs this, needs the contact, needs the reassurance, needs this strong, capable man to put him in his place.

(Derek was never supposed to be alpha.)

"God, look at you." Stiles surges into the next kiss. "Fucking gorgeous."

Derek is covered in dirt, in blood, in three day's worth of sweat and anxiety and shitty life choices. Stiles doesn't seem to care.

…

When Derek wakes, it's dark again. He must have slept for at least twelve hours. He stretches, testing his newly-healed flesh.

"You're completely healed," Stiles says from the shadows.

He's also clean, the stains of the past few days gone completely.

"You took care of me?" Why does Derek's voice crack?

(He knows why his voice cracked.)

"Chris and Allison handled the threat," Stiles says, ignoring him. "As long as you're here, they won't be able to touch you."

"As long as… are you asking me to stay?"

Stiles snorts. "No. I'm just saying it's your best option."

"I have nowhere to live. No belongings, no car, no-" 

"If you stay, Scott will offer you asylum. He'll help you."

"And you?" Derek stares into the darkness until he can see the set of Stiles' jaw, the darkness in his eyes.

"Well… I may be persuaded to keep an eye on you. After all, what kind of kidnapper would I be if I didn't take care of my victim?"

Derek takes a deep breath. "It isn't kidnapping anymore. Scott said I could go, remember? He outranks you."

"Do you want to stay or not?"

Derek looks around the loft, eyes landing on his beat-up leather jacket hanging on a hook by the door. The red coat hangs next to it, and he can't help but laugh.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll stay."


End file.
